


your side of the bed

by fraudulentzodiacs



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Failed Adoption, Heavy Angst, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27464542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraudulentzodiacs/pseuds/fraudulentzodiacs
Summary: The drive home is silent. A few years ago, when they were newly out and newly married, they’d be riding high off a win. Jonny would take his hand and twist their fingers together, let their hands rest together on the console. Now, the space between them feels cavernous, but the silence isn’t tense or angry for once so Patrick will take what he can get.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	your side of the bed

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt to write the saddest possible fic to make @[kkane88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkane88/pseuds/Kkane88) cry. 
> 
> For this week's Hockey RPF server prompt:  
> "What would you do if I didn't come back?"/ "Would you miss me at all?"

They win, 4-2 over the Flyers, and there’s celebrations in the locker room. Dacher’s got his playlist pouring through the speakers, dancing across the room with Boqer. Patrick spots Seabs slowly removing his gear in his stall, wincing as he pulls his chest guard over his shoulder. He’s old – they’re all getting old – and it’s more and more evident as the young guys come up and are faster, more agile, than them. Patrick thinks about making a chirp, turns to Jonny, but he’s already heading for the showers. His back’s to Patrick, but that’s typical these days. Patrick strips out of his gear, pulls his ring off of the necklace he keeps it on during games, and slips it on as he spots Jonny’s own resting in his stall.

The drive home is silent. A few years ago, when they were newly out and newly married, they’d be riding high off a win. Jonny would take his hand and twist their fingers together, let their hands rest together on the console. Now, the space between them feels cavernous, but the silence isn’t tense or angry for once so Patrick will take what he can get. He fiddles with his ring as the familiar sights of Chicago pass him by, but doesn’t try to talk to Jonny. These days, doing so only leads to them fighting, and right now Patrick just doesn’t have the energy for it.

Jonny still doesn’t say anything as they enter their building and head upstairs. He holds the door open for Patrick, sets out a bottle of water for him on the kitchen counter when he grabs one for himself, but there’s no softness to it. It seems to be routine, muscle memory, more than anything else, and Patrick _hates_ it. But, he supposes, it’s better than nothing and he tries to muster a small smile for Jonny when he grabs the drink.

“Thanks.” He says softly, hesitantly, and Jonny freezes.

“Sure.” He finally replies.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Okay. I’m going to stay up and watch some tape.”

Patrick thinks about telling him not to, of asking for him to follow him to their bedroom, but instead he nods and heads down the hallway.

Their bedroom is dark, cold, and only looks sadder when Patrick flips on the lamp on his side of the bed. It’s neatly made up, thanks to the cleaning service, and the space that used to feel so comfortable and familiar feels strange as Patrick moves through it. He strips out of his game day suit and drapes it across a chair, hangs his tie on the massive tie tree that Erica had given them as a housewarming gift when they first moved in together. Jonny and Patrick’s ties mixed together in their closet used to make Patrick smile, a physical symbol of their intertwined lives. Now, though, now it just reminds Patrick of how difficult it’s going to be to untangle their lives when Jonny finally calls it quits.

He grabs a worn, soft t-shirt and sleep pants and heads back into the bedroom. He doesn’t even notice the _19_ on his chest until he slips the shirt on, but he’s too tired to deal with changing shirts. He spots a pile of Jonny’s clothes on his side and rolls his eyes as he moves to grab them and toss them in the hamper. He freezes halfway down when he glances up and sees the framed photo on Jonny’s nightstand. It’s from their wedding day, five years ago. It was in Chicago, while they were still licking their wounds from losing in the first round to the Blues, but he and Jonny had wanted their team there. So, their moms and Patrick’s sisters had thrown together a wedding in under two weeks, insisting to Pat and Jonny that they needed more than a judge, a piece of paper, some rings, and a couple of kegs.

The photo is one of Patrick’s favorites, a black and white shot the photographer had been able to capture during their first dance. Jonny’s never been much for dancing, and Patrick preferred to forget the Kaner Shuffle, but they had managed to sway in each other’s arms while ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ played. Jonny was smiling down at Patrick, soft and private, and Patrick was throwing his head back in laughter. They looked so _in love_ , like nothing was ever going to be better than just being with each other forever.

Patrick turns away from the picture, drops Jonny’s clothes into the hamper, and climbs into bed.

He wakes up when the mattress dips as Jonny slips under the sheets. Half-asleep, Patrick rolls instinctively toward Jonny, his sleep-addled brain wanting to reach out for Jonny’s familiar warmth.

“Patrick?” Jonny’s voice, tinged with surprise, pulls the last of Patrick’s grogginess away. He stares up from where he’s pressed up against Jonny’s side, to where Jonny’s looking back it him with wariness.

“Sorry.” Patrick whispers, rolling back to his side.

“I-“ Jonny starts, but Patrick’s already got his back to Jonny, forcing himself to stay still so Jonny will believe that he’s already fallen back asleep. He feels the ghost of a touch on his shoulder, like Jonny’s fingers are hovering just millimeters from his skin, but it’s gone just as quickly. He feels Jonny sink further into the mattress before twisting and turning until he’s facing the other way.

Patrick closes his eyes and forces himself to go back to sleep.

Jonny’s gone by the time he wakes up the next morning. In the past, there would be a note on the coffee maker or a text or _something_ , but these days Patrick’s not sure what Jonny does with his time. Aside from hockey, they live almost completely separate lives. They’re glorified roommates more than husbands, and if Patrick didn’t know Jonny better than anyone else in the world, he’d be convinced that Jonny’s getting what he needs from somewhere else. But, he does know Jonny, and he knows that Jonny would never do that – doesn’t have it in him to be unfaithful, no matter how much they’ve fallen apart. When they reach that point, Patrick knows that Jonny will simply pack up his things and leave, break away from Patrick, finally tell him that it’s over.

Sometimes, Patrick wishes that he could do it himself. Wishes that he could set Jonny free, let him go so he can find someone new, someone that Jonny doesn’t equate with sadness and heartbreak and raw, terrible disappointment. But Patrick’s selfish, and no matter what he’ll take what he can get from Jonny for as long as he can get it. So, he stays, and Jonny stays, and nothing changes, and nothing gets better, but Patrick still has Jonny and that’s better than _not_ having Jonny.

He thinks about hanging around, but the condo is even more silent without Jonny’s presence, so he grabs his keys and heads for Sharpy’s house. Abby’s out with Maddie, but Sadie’s there with Sharpy and she practically throws herself into Patrick’s arms. Patrick holds her tight, carries her further into the house to find Sharpy setting out the hockey equipment in the backyard.

“Dad, Uncle Pat’s here!”

“Hey, Peeks.” Sharpy greets, and Patrick sets Sadie down so she can grab a hockey stick from her father.

“Wanna play, Uncle Pat?”

“Sure.” Patrick grabs the stick Sharpy tosses his way. “How about me and you against your dad?”

“Yeah, you need all the help you can get.” Sharpy chirps.

“Let’s show him Sadie.” Patrick leans down conspiratorially, which she returns with a smirk, and then they’re off. Sharpy definitely takes a few dives, but Sadie’s got good instincts for a seven-year-old, and she and Patrick triumph. Sharpy collapses onto the grass, and Sadie dogpiles onto him with a triumphant screech. Patrick feels an ache in his chest that he swiftly ignores and follows as Sharpy carries Sadie back into the house over his shoulder.

“Can I play on my tablet?” She asks once he sets her down in the kitchen, and darts away as soon as her feet touch the floor.

“Drink?” Sharpy gestures toward the fridge.

“Yeah, beer, if you have it.”

“This a beer talk?” Patrick shrugs, but takes the bottle when Sharpy hands it over. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Patrick lies, popping the top and dropping it on the counter.

“You and Jonny doing any better?” Patrick flinches, but doesn’t respond. “Pat-“

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sharpy.” Patrick stares across the counter at him. “Please.”

“Okay, sure bud.” Sharpy comes around and drops a heavy hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “But I’m here if you need to.”

He lingers at the Sharps until after Abby gets back, declines her offer to join them for dinner, and Sharpy follows him to the front door as he shrugs on his jacket.

“Peeks,” Sharpy stops him as he goes to open the door. “I don’t want to pry into your marriage, but you’re my best friend. I know – I can’t imagine going through what you guys did – but it’s not going to get any better if you don’t _talk_ about it.”

“I-“ Patrick wants to argue, deny it, ignore it like they have for months. “He doesn’t – we can’t –“

“Just try, that’s all I’m saying.” Sharpy slaps his shoulder again, pulls him into a hug that has Patrick sagging against his friend. He hasn’t been touched in so long, not so much as a hug off the ice, and he’s…he’s _lonely_ , he realizes.

“Thanks.” Patrick says into Sharpy’s shirt.

“We’re always here for you, Peekaboo.” Sharpy tells him as Patrick pulls away. “We’re here for Jonny, too.”

Patrick thinks about it on the drive home, thinks about just _talking_ to Jonny. He thinks that might have worked six months ago, three months ago, but now he’s afraid it’s too late – that they’ve left this to fester between them for too long and now there’s no going back. He drives back to the condo on autopilot, feels a knot in his stomach when he pulls into his spot in the garage and spots Jonny’s car in the next spot over.

There’s a smell wafting from the kitchen when he walks in, and he follows it to find Jonny hovering over the stove. He stands silently and watches as Jonny focuses on the skillet in front of him, moving with practiced ease as he makes what Patrick recognizes is one of Andree’s recipes.

“Hey.” He finally greets, and Jonny jumps a little but turns around and gives him a small smile.

“Hey.” He turns back to the food. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Can I help?” Jonny seems to muse on it before nodding to the fridge.

“Put the salad together?”

“Sure.” Patrick does as he’s told, grabbing the ingredients out of the fridge and a large bowl from the cabinet. They work silently together, and it may have been a long time since they’ve made dinner together, but when it comes to something like this they work just as well together here as they do on the ice.

“It’s good.” Patrick tells him, once they’ve sat down with their plates. They’re in the dining room, sharing a meal, and it feels so foreign that Patrick can’t remember the last time they did this.

“Thanks.”

“Your mom’s recipe, right?”

“Yeah. She, uh…I was talking to her earlier and it made me want some of her food.”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Stuff.” Jonny replies between bites. “The offseason, promo stuff.”

They’re not mathematically out of the playoffs yet – it’s close, but not a sure thing – and the fact that Jonny’s already planning their offseason has his hackles rising.

“You can’t – you don’t know when the season’s going to be done-“

“Patrick-“

“You can’t just start _planning shit_ , especially without talking to me. Like, what if I want to go to Winnipeg first instead of Buffalo-“

“I’m not going to Buffalo.” Jonny’s voice is firm, and when Patrick looks at him, he’s staring down at the table.

“What do you mean? We always go to Buffalo for part of the offseason.”

“You can go.” Jonny tells him. “But I’m going to Winnipeg…alone.”

Patrick can’t talk, can’t breathe. This is exactly what he’d been dreading for months.

“I think…I think we need some space.”

Patrick swallows past the lump in his throat, forces back the tears burning in his eyes. “But we’re _married_.” He tells him, and Jonny looks wounded, his dark eyes going wide.

“I know.”

“Do you want to be married?” Patrick somehow gets out, just manages to keep his gaze on Jonny as his eyes grow wet too, pulling at the napkin in his hands.

“I don’t know.” Jonny finally admits, and all Patrick can do is push away from the table and walk away.

Jonny doesn’t come to bed that night until Patrick’s tossed and turned for hours. He listens as Jonny changes for bed, tenses up as he slips into bed beside Patrick. Patrick feels the tears slip out again, his pillow already damp with the ones he let escape silently earlier.

“If you want a divorce…” Patrick starts, staying turned away from Jonny.

“I don’t.” Jonny’s voice is rough, and it takes everything in Patrick not to reach for him.

“But you don’t want to be married.”

“I don’t know what I want. I just think it might be good for us to take some time to really think about what we want, if we still want each other.”

“I _love_ you.” Patrick tells him harshly, and he feels like the words have been forced out of him. Jonny doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and a sob escapes Patrick. He feels Jonny’s hand grab his shoulder and tug until he’s lying flat on his back. Jonny hovers over him, and Patrick gasps when he leans down and seals his lips over Patrick’s. Jonny hasn’t kissed him in so long it’s almost unfamiliar, but he’s been in love with Jonny since he was nineteen years old and his body still knows how to react to Jonny even when his heart is breaking.

“I love you too.” Jonny breathes into his skin when he pulls away, his mouth hot against his cheek. “God, I love you Peeks.”

Patrick sobs again, seeks out Jonny’s mouth. Jonny lets him, kisses him hard and deep as a hand slips under the waistband of Patrick’s boxers. Patrick arches into the touch, and loses himself in the feel of Jonny’s hands on him.

When they’re done, Jonny holds Patrick in a way that he hasn’t in months, lets Patrick rest his head against Jonny’s chest.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Patrick tells him, whispering it into Jonny’s skin.

Patrick sighs as Jonny tightens his grip on his shoulders. “Me either.”

“Can we fix this? Can we fix us?”

“I want to try.” Jonny presses a kiss to his head, and Patrick finally falls asleep.

Patrick’s not sure what finally convinces him to do it. The therapist they’ve been seeing for the past two months has pushed them to confront the things they don’t talk about, told them that silence and secrets are the death of marriages. They’ve definitively been eliminated from the playoffs, but Patrick finds that he’s not as soul-crushingly disappointed as he might have been in years past. He wants to say it’s because he’s _known_ soul-crushing disappointment, and having a bad season just doesn’t really compare – and isn’t that growth, Patrick thinks.

Still, he can’t help but be overcome with nerves as he stares at the door. He’s not sure where Jonny is – he’s gotten better about communicating with Patrick about where he’s going, but he’s still a grown adult with his own life – and he’s not sure he should be doing this alone, but he also doesn’t think he could do it with Jonny here. He stares at the door, the one that hasn’t been opened for more months than Patrick cares to think about. His hand shakes as he reaches for the doorknob, and for some reason Patrick’s surprised at how easily it turns. It’s as if it should be difficult to open, not give so easily to Patrick.

The air in the room is stale as Patrick lets the door swing open. The lights are out, but there’s enough light coming in from the windows that Patrick doesn’t need them. It’s daytime, and the sheer gauzy curtains do little to filter out the bright Chicago midday. He hesitates when it comes to actually stepping inside, but then he thinks about how opening the door is pointless if he can’t even actually go in the room. He crosses the threshold, and he expels a breath he hadn’t even realized that he’d been holding. He’s in the room, the world didn’t end, and he’s still standing.

He steps further in, and despite his best effort his eyes can’t help but drift over everything. The cream furniture, the grey and pink walls, the monochromatic mural of birds and trees that Jonny had insisted on one side of the room. It’s the letters on the wall across from him that get him, though, hand-painted by his mom and sent to them just as they were finishing decorating.

_L E N A_

His heart arches in his chest, steps up and runs his hand along the railing of the crib – the crib that never got to be used. The daughter that never got to come home with them, because her mom decided at the last minute that she didn’t want them to be her parents after all.

His eyes fall on the small Hawks jersey sitting on the dresser, a gift Sharpy had given him at his ‘dad shower,’ just weeks before Lena was set to be born. He picks it up, traces his fingers over the _Kane-Toews_ , then down to the numbers, the _98_ bright and white against Hawks red.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, in the middle of the nursey, clutching his would-be daughter’s first hockey jersey, but he doesn’t leave when he hears Jonny come home. He can’t bring himself to responds as Jonny drops his keys in the key bowl and calls out for him. Just stands there and stares at the letters on the wall until Jonny’s steps grow closer, until he knows that Jonny is standing in the doorway.

“Patrick?” He asks, soft, and Patrick can’t look up, can’t look at him. “What?”

“Do you think it’s my fault?”

“What?”

“Do you think…” Patrick lets out a shuddering breath. “Do you think Amy changed her mind because of me?”

“What do you mean?”

“All the stupid shit I did when we were younger. It just takes a quick Google search. Do you think she found out about all of that and that’s why she changed her mind?”

“Patrick-“ Jonny sounds closer, like he’s finally stepped into the room.

“Is that why you hate me? Because it’s my fault?” Patrick clutches the tiny jersey tighter in his hands.

“I don’t hate you.” Jonny argues, and Patrick shakes his head.

“You _did_. Jonny, you…you pushed me away for so long.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Jonny sighs, and he’s close enough now that Patrick can feel his breath on the back of his neck.

“But you did, and I know we’re working on things, but I can’t help but think-“

“I never blamed you.” Jonny interrupts him, pulls until Patrick is finally facing him. “Never, I swear. I was just so…so fucking _sad_ that I just…I couldn’t handle it.”

“I was sad, too, Jonny. I lost her, too, and then I lost you.”

“No, you didn’t.” Jonny cups his face. “Not ever, I swear, I was just…”

“I know. But you were ready to leave, Jonny, and all I could think was that it was my fault. All I could do was wonder if you would miss me at all if I left.”

“Patrick-“

“What would you do if I left?” Patrick forces the words out, wondering if he is even capable of leaving Jonny before he could leave Patrick. “Would you just let me go?”

“I would follow you.” Jonny tells him, fiercely and with more fire and emotion than Patrick’s seen in months.

“You would?” Patrick can hear the wetness, the disbelief in his voice as he watches Jonny watch him.

“ _Anywhere_.” Jonny grips his face tighter. “I’m so fucking sorry that I pushed you away, that I’ve refused to…to talk about her. I’m trying Patrick, I swear, just don’t give up on me yet, _please_.”

“We have to be able to talk about this, Jon. We can’t just lock her away and pretend like she doesn’t exist, that we didn’t lose her. She’s out there somewhere, and it sucks that she’s not with us, but it’s eating away at our marriage to pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“I know.” Jonny lets his head fall forward until his forehead is pressed against Patrick’s. “I don’t want to lose you, Peeks”

“You haven’t.” Patrick promises, and Jonny’s shoulders sag. “You won’t.”

“We can talk about her, if you want.”

“I do.”

“I can’t…I can’t promise I’ll be…”

“I know, Jonny.” Patrick slips a hand up to cup Jonny’s jaw.

“Will we be okay? One day?”

Patrick stares up at Jonny, and the man he’s loved for his entire adult life, and reaches up to kiss him, something fleeting and soft and comforting.

“Yeah, I think we will be.” He tells him, wrapping a hand around his wrist. He pulls them out of the room and down the hall, toward the bed that feels welcoming – that feels like home – for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> It's the offseason but hockey lives in my mind rent free 365 days a year, so come miss the knife shoe boys with me @[bennsseguin](https://bennsseguin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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